Page 4 of Whisper Sweet Nothings
“Appreciate it,” I said as I opened my email.
And I spent the next hour catching up on admin and taking a few phone calls.
My nanny turned out to be a no-show.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy to find a replacement for Mrs. Dowden, but I’d expected her to show the fuck up for an interview.
Or at the very least to have the decency to cancel the interview.
I made my way to the staff lounge, and Lucy threw her arms in the air. “Did she at least call to say she wasn’t coming?”
“Nope.”
“What should I do if she shows up now?” she asked.
“Tell her the position is no longer available. I can’t hire a nanny who can’t show up for the initial meeting. I’m going to need someone I can count on to pick Melody up from school.”
“Should I check those job boards I was telling you about on theRosewood River Reviewwebsite? There are plenty of people looking for work in town.”
“Sure. I need to find someone quickly,” I said. “My family is covering for now, but I can’t keep asking everyone for favors.”
My life was far too busy to waste time on an employee who didn’t have the decency to make a phone call to say she wasn’t going to make it.
Time to find a new nanny.
two
. . .
Winnie
Of course mypiece-of-shit car decided to give out on me the day I had an interview.
In the middle of a rainstorm.
The universe clearly hates me.
I glanced around from where my car had died on the side of the little country road about a mile from downtown. It was pouring rain, and I dug in my purse and pulled out my phone.
I looked at my watch and chewed on my thumbnail as I tried to figure out what to do. I could call my uncle Oscar and see if he or Aunt Edith could come pick me up. I’d never make it on time now.
My phone had no signal.
“Shit!”
I needed this job if I wanted to start a new life, which I was desperate to do.
I squeezed my eyes closed as my father’s words filled my head.
You don’t quit. You’re Winnie fucking Smith.
I was happy to be Winnie Smith again. I’d lost my mojo when I was Winnie Wilson.
And the mantra worked better this way.
They weren’t the typical words one says to a five-year-old kid, but he’d been saying this to me ever since my mom walked out on us.
My father, Sam Smith, was a man of few words, but he made sure the ones he said counted.
